


Black Dahlia

by Novelistangel (NovelistAngel23)



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Aasimar, Backstory, Cults, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 07:24:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13406310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovelistAngel23/pseuds/Novelistangel
Summary: I met Dorian before I could form memories.--The backstory of my current D&D character, Dahlia, a young aasimar fighter.





	Black Dahlia

I met Dorian before I could form memories. If we had some grand first meeting, I can’t recall it. In my first memory of him, we had already become well-acquainted.

We were walking through the garden, across a bushy plain where weather-roughened stepping stones marked the safest path. As we made our way through, Dorian taught me the names of each flower.

I had no name yet. Many members of the cult had names for me--even Dorian. He called me many things: my love, dear child, little one. Efferven, the high priest and unquestioned leader of the cult, called me Divine One. Even back then, too young to know what it meant and what Efferven was capable of, I vehemently rejected that name. It would not be mine. I wanted to choose my own name.

“Do you like this one?” Dorian asked me, contemplating a flower hanging from a small basket. I remember clearly how he looked that day. His kind dark eyes were shiny with joy as he looked down at me, and his short dark beard was neatly trimmed. “It’s called an impatien.” His gaze was playful now. “Much like you, little one.”

I stuck my tongue out at him, but he only laughed and moved down to pick me up. Dorian was so much taller than me that, hanging off his hip, I could see every bit of the garden we’d walked already and even further ahead. Vivid pink and purple blooms caught my eye. Yellows and oranges flooded the field. Blues and reds made for a beautiful picture. I surveyed the garden with great concentration. “Go on,” he encouraged. “Which is your favorite, my love?”

Perhaps even then I knew my choice would be an important one. I took my time deciding, rubbing my chin the way he often rubbed his beard when he thought carefully. He chuckled lightly. “The clock ticks without you, little one.”

I stuck my tongue out again, this time in concentration. He made the sound of a ticking clock--all in jest, though I knew I’d surely be indecisive all day if he didn’t push me to make my choice. Finally I pointed to a vague area where my decision lay nestled amongst the rest. He moved towards it, tilting his hips until my small finger touched the dark pink bloom.

“Ah, the dahlia then?”

“Dahlia,” I repeated, nodding sagely.

He reached out and deftly picked the flower, placing it neatly in my hair with only a twist of the stem. “Do you know the meaning of the dahlia, my love?” he asked as I reached up to play with the flower. I shook my head which prompted him to smile. “Eternal love,” he explained, leaning in so our noses touched, and he shook his head to rub them together.

I giggled and lifted my hands to his face, one small hand pulling at his beard and the other at the thick hair atop his head. He laughed along with me. “But that is not its only meaning. Purple and pink, like the one in your hair, symbolize kindness and grace. A very fitting flower for a kind and graceful girl like you.”

I smiled wide, showed off my teeth, and then threw my arms around his neck in a hug. I buried my face in his shoulder, and he hugged me back for a moment before beginning to carry me home, to the temple I had lived in my whole life. It was very rare for me to venture outside like this, to feel the sunlight and smell the flowers. I leaned back to look at him, furrowing my brows at him. “Yellow!” I demanded.

He paused and looked thoughtful a moment. “I don’t believe I know the meaning of that one,” he admitted and continued walking.

But I was determined to stay outside longer. “Green! Orange!”

He laughed and continued, ignoring my requests--until I said black.

He stopped then and took a deep breath. “The black dahlia… symbolizes betrayal.” He looked at me seriously, and I can’t forget the way his jaw trembled as he spoke. Thinly-veiled intensity rested deep within his eyes. As a child, I felt I was being scolded. As an adult I now realize I was being warned. “Death and betrayal. Little one, you must promise me, you will be wary of the black dahlia. Never trust someone with its symbol. Never venture where it grows. Promise me.”

I nodded slowly, terrified. “I promise.”

And there my first memory ends.

Most of my memories with the cult are little more than a blur. I cannot recall a singular face save for Dorian’s kind one and Efferven’s hollow and cruel one. It was an unspoken law amongst them all that I was a sacred object. To look directly at me was blasphemous. To speak to me was unforgivable. Efferven, as high priest, communicated with me as one would their goddess. But always I could sense an underlying cruelty. I was a sacred object, and he was my owner.

Dorian was the only one to treat me with kindness. As second in command he was entrusted with the role of my caregiver. He fed me, clothed me, bathed me, taught me. He was the only one I could call my friend. He was the only family I had ever known. For our closeness he was shunned by the other cult members. We lived alone in our world.

That world started small, but as I grew older, Dorian began to teach me about the outside world in secret. He taught me about it piece by piece--I learned about the flowers first. Then he taught me about the people who grew them. Then the people who sold them and the people who bought them and who they bought them for. He taught me about many different races: the tall and beautiful elves; the rugged and powerful dwarves; the intelligent and resourceful humans; and every race in between. He taught me about the highest mountains and the deepest oceans. Occasionally he had a tale to spin about the monsters of the land and the heroes who faced them. I took particularly to the fighters who wielded their swords and strength against their opponents.

Every day I learned more and more about my own curiosity.

And Efferven taught me silently about the dangers of that curiosity. I have vivid memories of sneaking through the temple and discovering the punishments of those who committed sins in the cult. Sins of the flesh were repaid with the flaying of flesh. I grew familiar with the sight of skin peeling from a back. Sins of the mind were punished with isolation. Some weaker willed sinners left their chambers with no mind left. Each torture seemed more brutal than the last.

And Efferven, serene and lithe, sat upon his throne-like chair and watched as teeth and nails were removed one by one, as skin was peeled, as minds were lost, and never once did I see him flinch.

My distrust of him grew stronger as my loneliness grew wider.

Dorian, though we loved each other, couldn’t be with me always. Hours would pass with the same books to keep me company. Though I had free roam of the temple, I knew every path and secret passage. Unlike our gracious leader, I couldn’t stand to watch the torture for very long.

In those long stretches of time between waking and seeing Dorian, my mind began to conduct plans to leave the temple premises and discover something new.

It occurred to me I could be punished. For my wayward soul, I might sacrifice a mouth full of teeth or a sane head upon my shoulders. But the boredom of being alone got the better of me.  _ Besides _ , I thought,  _ surely they would never harm their precious Divine One _ .

Every day I secretly ventured further. Never far enough that I couldn’t claim to merely be strolling the garden. I found new places to sit and snails to catch. I found a flower I didn’t recognize and picked it to show to Dorian.

He went very quiet when he saw it. A delicate white bloom, soft to the touch. “Dahlia, my love… Where did you find this?”

I realized I had been caught, but I could never lie to Dorian. I told him the truth as soon as he asked, though quietly, sure that I was in trouble.

I expected to be scolded but instead I was embraced. He whispered into my ear, “Tell no one of your adventures, Dahlia. If you are asked, tell them I was with you--no one would dare question my authority.”

I spoke before I realized I was. “What about Efferven?” I asked, the words unbidden.

Dorian went stiff at the mention of him. “Never speak to him,” he warned. “Never cross him.”

We spoke no more of it that night.

But the next morning, Dorian was gone again with only a note in his place: a crudely drawn map. The symbols were ones only we could recognize. When I followed the path he’d marked, I found myself in a small alcove of trees beyond the garden. There Dorian sat with a small loaf of sweet bread. All around him grew the small white flowers like the one I’d shown him before. We shared the bread as he told me more about them. I was too enraptured to eat when he began to tell me about what lay further ahead.

Villages full of people. Vast farmlands where lived cattle and livestock I had never seen before. More flowers than had ever lived in the garden.

“Never venture far enough to be seen,” he advised in a hushed tone as he led me back to the temple. “Never stay out for longer than a few minutes’ time. Never take things you find outside the garden. And never, ever disobey these rules.” He cupped my face gently as he knelt to my height. “They are for your own good, Dahlia. Everything I do is to keep you safe.”

I nodded. “Yes, Dorian.”

Every day I would venture outside. I made the village a frequent getaway. Watching the villagers interact brought a sort of peace to my soul. I prided myself in recognizing every face. From my perch in a tree on the outskirts of the village, I could just make out conversations between the villagers, and I would wonder what each word really meant. What did this pretty woman whisper to her companion? Why would they laugh as they traded coin for eggs? When someone cried was it for sadness or for frustration?

Before long I began to ignore Dorian’s rules. What harm was a minute more? A pretty rock? A closer perch? What harm was an eggshell lie? Efferven would never hurt his precious “Divine One” after all.

I was right about that at least.

The day I was caught I had been gone at least an hour. A bouquet of dandelions rested in my back pocket. As I walked back to the garden, I heard Efferven’s voice, creeping like a vine into my ears. I looked up to see him standing before me.

Efferven was a very tall man. His hair was almost as long as mine and pure white, and his serene expression sent a shiver down my spine as I looked up at him in horror. “Dahlia,” he addressed me, unsmiling. “Do you recall the rules I gave you when you were first allowed to roam the temple?”

I shuddered as he spoke. The memories of him calmly watching his sinners tortured flooded my mind. “Y-yes, Efferven…”

“There were three, were there not?”

“Yes…”

He began to circle me as he spoke, and I realized how small I was beside him. I felt as if I were getting smaller by the second.

“First: you must always have an escort.” He peered around as if searching for one and, finding none, tsked at me in disappointment. “Second: I must always be made aware when you visit the garden. I was not aware you were even awake yet this day. Third and most important... “ He turned to me, eyes cold as steel. “You are never to venture further than the garden.”

We were very far from the garden.

“You understand then that there must be a punishment for these transgressions, Dahlia.”

My fingers trembled as I clutched them close to my chest. Did it hurt as much as it looked to lose your nails so brutally? “I-I’m sorry…”

He hummed and began to coo to me. “Oh, Divine One, fear not.” His long, slender hands cupped my face. There was a fierce strength behind each knuckle. Had he wanted to--perhaps had I not been his sacred possession--he could have easily snapped my jaw. “No harm will ever come to you while you stay with me. I believe someone more suitable can take your punishment for you.”

The meaning of his words took a moment to reach me. When they did, I very nearly collapsed in horror.

Through the rafters of the temple, where I usually witnessed the torture of the sinners, I watched Dorian suffer my punishment in my place. They flayed his skin with whips of leather. They ripped out the nails of one hand with little more than knives and brute force. All the while Efferven looked on as if bored. As if he couldn’t hear his screams of agony.

I forced myself to watch. Every minute he spent in pain was my fault. Had I obeyed him--or better, had I obeyed Efferven’s laws in the first place--Dorian would have five nails and a pound of flesh more than he did now.

That night I snuck out for the last time. It wasn’t very far. Across the temple to Dorian’s room. He lay defeated and exhausted in his bed and did no more than stare at me as I emerged from my hiding place.

I cupped his face in my hands, studying his gaze. “This is my fault.”

His voice was ragged as he spoke. “No, Dahlia.”

“It is.” I rose to my feet, pacing the room. “If I hadn’t… If I hadn’t broken Efferven’s rules--”

“Dahlia--”

“If I had just--”

“Dahlia.”

“Then-- Then you wouldn’t--”

“Dahlia, you will listen to me when I speak to you.”

Though he didn’t yell, his voice was loud. Raspy yet firm and his gaze was piercing when I turned to him. “Do not blame yourself for this outcome, my love. None of this is your fault. Do you think…” At this point he sat up, wincing all the way and sitting hunched over. His back was raw and bloody, skin shredded where he’d been whipped. I couldn’t imagine the pain he was in. “Do you think this is how those villagers settle disputes, little one? Do you think this is how the world works out there?”

I stared at him in surprise. I had never considered it before. The only law I’d ever known was Efferven’s. It had never occurred to me that his law and way of enforcing it might be so different from the rest of the world.

Dorian patted the bed beside him. His bloody fingers left marks on the sheets. Cautiously I sat at his side. “There is so much I wish you knew… There is so much I’ve wanted to teach you.” He sighed deeply, his arms tensing as if he wanted to move them but thought better of it once the pain of his back flared up again. “...You were not always here, Dahlia,” he whispered. He seemed more defeated than before somehow. “But that I’m sure you gathered long ago.”

I nodded solemnly. Dorian had always been my family as far as I was concerned, but it wasn’t that hard to discern that I didn’t belong here. There was a reason I wasn’t allowed to leave.

“You were taken from your home as a baby because you… you are more powerful than any ordinary human,” he explained, his voice now quieter than I had ever heard it. “I wish I could tell you everything right now, Dahlia. But I don’t know everything myself. You are what one might call an Aasimar--a descendant of the Celestials. And Efferven wants to utilize that power.” He looked at me then, moving his hand to cup mine. “He’ll stop at nothing, I’m sure. But none of it is your fault, dear child. You did not choose your lot in life.”

I felt almost as if I had been slapped in the face. I couldn’t make heads or tails of his meaning. I was… more than human? More powerful somehow? I had never felt powerful a day in my life… I had never so wanted to doubt Dorian--but he was the only one I could trust to tell me the truth.

“Dorian…” I murmured. I took his hand in both of mine. “I think it is time for you to rest.” He opened his mouth to speak, but I shook my head. “Thank you… for being truthful with me. I treasure your honesty. But I…” I bit my lip and looked away. “I need time to think.”

And think I did. For hours. For days. What was I? Who was I? Where had I come from? All this time I’d never thought to question it, but now the gears were turning.

To Efferven I had never been more obedient. To Dorian I had never been so quiet.

But my curiosity had always had a power over me. Seamlessly my thinking became planning. If Dorian could tell me no more… if Efferven did not want me to know… then I would have to seek out the truth myself. Who I was? Where I really belonged? What my powers were, and what Efferven wanted them for? I had to find it all, and I had to find it myself.

“Were you there?” I asked Dorian one night as we ate a simple dinner together. “When I was taken?”

He froze, a bite of food halfway to his mouth, and I looked at him as firmly as I could. I would not let him dodge the question. A long while had passed since he’d told me about my lineage and my kidnapping, and I was determined now more than ever to find out the details. He carefully set his food down and addressed me solemnly. “I was not,” he told me.

I nodded sagely, looking at my bowl, now having lost my appetite. “Do you know where I was taken from? Do you… know my real name?”

His hand took my chin lightly so that I had to meet his eyes. “Your real name is Dahlia, my love. You chose it; it’s yours. Let no one take that from you.”

I turned my eyes away from him defiantly. He took a slow breath through his nose. I’d never been defiant with him before. Perhaps he knew then that things were beginning to change.

“Do you know where I was taken from?” I asked again.

He let my chin go and drew his hand back. Still the nail beds of those fingers lay empty and red. “I know it was somewhere south of here. Dangerous, war torn lands.”

I nodded. Then I’d need to learn to protect myself if I were to find any clue amongst the rubble there.

“Dahlia, my love… what goes through your head these days?”

I knew from experience that he meant the question. That he really did want to know my answer. But I merely shook my head and smiled. “Curiosity.”

I planned my escape on one of Efferven’s holy days. All in the temple had retired to their chambers for prayer after a long week of fasting. Other than the guards, whose routes I’d long since memorized, there would be no one to witness my escape.

I didn’t know what to take. My flowers would die. I had no extra food nor anything to carry it in. No weapons nor any clue how to wield one. All I took was a cloak and the hope that kindness might bring me some luck.

The temple was eerily quiet. The walls seemed to hum with the energy of prayers, but I could hear no voices. Only my footsteps, the steps of the guards, and my nervous, shaky breaths.

Though escaping through the garden would be easiest, I knew it would be the first place they’d expect. If they followed me to the village, there would be casualties, I was sure.

So I stole through the grand halls to the wide front doors. I rarely, if ever, stood in this room. Pews stood on either side, where the cult members sat to listen to Efferven’s daily sermons. It was silent now, but the aura of his words remained, sending a shiver up my back.

I placed my hands on the tall wooden doors and was suddenly overcome with apprehension. Efferven would stop at nothing… If he found me, I couldn’t imagine what might happen. My palms began to sweat; my heart began to pound. And Dorian? Whether he knew or not, Efferven would blame him for my escape surely. He could be tortured--he could be killed.

My hands slid off the door, and I backed away.

“Dahlia...”

I turned to Dorian, defeated. Some part of me had known I couldn't hide it from him. Perhaps I’d foolishly hoped he’d turn a blind eye. “I’m so scared,” I whispered.

He stood halfway down the line of pews, and as soon as I spoke he began to walk towards me. It was then I realized he was weighed down with supplies. On one shoulder hung a backpack with what appeared to be food inside. In one hand he held a pouch tied shut with a worn ribbon; in the other, he held a shining, newly forged hairpin, the shape and color of a black dahlia.

I stared at his offerings as he came to stand in front of me. “I cannot order you to go no more than I can order you to stay,” he whispered. He paused, taking a deep breath. “But I can tell you that you have no need to be afraid.”

He began by placing the pouch in my hand. It was far heavier than I’d expected and jingled as it settle in my palm. Gold. A great deal of it. “This is a journey you must make alone… I only wish to aid its beginning as much as I can.” He handed me the backpack, and I could see there was also a change of clothes inside and my old books. “Don’t worry about me, my love. Go. Find who you are. Discover the truth.” He gently placed the pin in my hair, letting one long strand hang on his nailless finger until his hand dropped back to his side. “There was so much I wanted to tell you before this day came… I took for granted all the time we had together…”

We stood in silence then, and I felt my eyes welling with tears. He’d told me not to worry about him, that I had nothing to fear. As if he thought he meant nothing to me in the end. “I’ll miss you,” I managed before the tears began to fall.

He smiled in a way that told me he’d expected such a reaction. He leaned down just enough to meet my gaze and cup my face, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “Dahlia… I know you’ll miss me. I’ll miss you as well. Every moment we’ve spent together I treasure; I always will. But you are a blossoming young woman, opening a new chapter of your life.”

He leaned in to pull me into a hug, and trembling I put my arms around his neck. Buried my face in his shoulder as I began to cry. “It’s time for you to make friends, to find real loved ones. You have a whole life to create now.”

He held me there for a few moments before pulling back and meeting my eyes. “I love you so much, Dahlia.”

I smiled, teary-eyed. “I love you too, Dor--...” I paused, realizing that what I wanted to say had never been his name. I shook my head and smiled wider. “Father,” I finished firmly.

His eyes went wide. I had never called him such before. Slowly he rose back to his full height, a soft, sad smile on his face. “Now, no more delay, Dahlia--”

“How very touching.”

We both whipped around to a familiar voice. Efferven stood from a pew, clapping slowly as if he’d seen an underwhelming performance. My blood ran ice cold.

Dorian didn’t seem surprised at all. He pushed the door open, never turning his gaze from Efferven. “Dahlia, run. Never look back at this place.”

Efferven drew a knife. “I tire of these games, Dorian. You already know the cost of such insolence.”

Dorian’s face stayed stone cold, but his voice grew louder and meaner. “Dahlia,  _ run _ .”

My feet began to move. The air outside was cold, and there was hardly any light. Trees loomed on either side of me. I had never seen this side of the forest.

“Run, Dahlia! Don’t stop running!” Dorian’s voice echoed back to me.

I looked over my shoulder at him, one last look before he’d forever be a memory.

He stood in the doorway, calling for me to run as fast and long as I could. His voice stopped abruptly as a hand grabbed him by the forehead and the glinting tip of a knife burst through his throat.

I was too shocked to scream. Blood began to spurt and pour down his robe front. His adam’s apple moved as if he were trying to gurgle out one last word. As the knife pulled out of his throat, he collapsed to his knees and then fell onto his face. In his place, tall and serene, stood Efferven, watching as I ran. He casually wiped the blood off on his robe.

I turned back ahead. I never looked back.

That is my last memory of Dorian.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never published original stuff online so I figured I'd try posting a few things here and there, just to get them out there! This one I finished recently, a few weeks ago maybe? We started playing the game, and it's super fun! I can't wait to see how my DM fits her backstory into the game. I've never played D&D before so I'm excited to see how it goes.
> 
> If you'd like to see more of my original works you can follow my oc sideblog on tumblr myocsaremylife.tumblr.com. I also have a twitter, @novelistangel23! If you enjoyed, please leave kudos and/or a comment. Thank you for reading!


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